


Harry Potter and the... Wait, Not Everyone's a Dick?

by taineedstochill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gen, Slytherins are good, Smut, Wandlore, drunk teenagers, grey!Harry, magic lore, powerful!Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24925888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taineedstochill/pseuds/taineedstochill
Summary: A first-year to eighth-year AU where people are a little nicer.Harry's also a little bit of a whore, but that comes later.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. Introduction

An Introduction.

First of all, thanks for clicking on my fic. I hope you enjoy!

I've always wanted to read a fanfiction about what would happen if everyone were friends (within reason) but couldn't really find anything, so here I am. 

It will hopefully be quite large, I have a basic outline so there's some structure at least. There will be at least ten chapters per year, each containing 2k-5k words. (10 x 3.5k x 9 = 315k words approx)

I've been doing research on the canon timeline and will be continuing that research but there will be non-canon events as well as OOC characters. Draco is less of a self-righteous prat, Dumble is less manipulative, Lucius is a good father, Snape is.. alright. Of course, Voldy and Umbs are still dicks, don't worry. 

That's all, I think. The beginning of each chapter will have trigger warnings (brief)

Not beta-read yet. Forgive any mistakes, I'm a native English speaker so the only excuse is laziness :')


	2. Chapter One, The Boy Who Lived (under the cupboard)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mild/moderate child abuse.

The cupboard ceiling looked dustier than usual, Harry thought. There were spider webs at every corner, with a mousehole to the left of his worn mattress. Harry didn’t complain. He didn’t mind the spiders, even if he found them in his socks too many times to count. 

Besides, Harry knew if he complained, Vernon would get mad. Vernon wasn’t nice to be around when he was mad - his uncle would get red and hot, yelling at every inconvenience - Harry can still remember the time he made a comment about the mouse nibbling at his hair in bed, with Vernon getting so mad that the plate in his hand went flying straight towards Harry's face. 

(He still has the small scar above his eyebrow, only noticed up close)

He sighed. Tomorrow was Dudley’s birthday, and Harry dreaded having to spend the day at Mrs. Figgs's house. He couldn’t decide what he disliked the most - the smell of cat pee on her carpet or the hours spent gazing upon the scrapbook of dead cats. Harry decided it was the cat pee. 

Across Privet Drive, an owl was hooting incessantly. Despite this, Harry turned and fell asleep. No use staying up and dreading the next day, was his final thought. 

“Get up, boy! It’s Dudley’s birthday today. Everything has to be perfect!”

Discomfort appeared on Harry’s face at the idea of having to cook his family breakfast, but he immediately got up and headed to the kitchen - he still vividly remembered what happened last time he slept in. 

“Don’t burn the bacon, Harry,” Petunia shrilled. “And mind the eggs!” 

Harry was already overwhelmed by the number of chores, but the sight of Dudley’s presents increased his stress tenfold. He brought breakfast down to the table, where Petunia and the rest of the family were sitting and waiting. 

“The bacon is burnt.” 

“I’m sorry, Aunt Petunia.” Harry looked down. “I was just distracted by the presents in-”

“Presents?” Dudley interrupted, pushing his breakfast away. He ran to the lounge, as Petunia and Vernon followed. 

“-twenty-six, twenty-seven-” Harry noticed Dudley muttering, and realized he was counting the presents. “-thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six.”

Petunia looked rather high strung, confirming “-yes, sweetums, thirty-six!-” with a smile. This did not reassure Dudley.

“Last year there were thirty-seven.”

Petunia, desperate to avoid a tantrum, quickly came to the rescue. “Oh, my baby angel, you didn’t see this big present over here from your father and I.” The gears were turning. “And, when we go out today, we’ll buy you another! Whatever you would like.”

“So I’ll have thirty… thirty…”

“Thirty-eight, sweetums.”

“Mrs. Figgs has gone and broke her leg!” Vernon shook at the prospect of taking Harry along on Dudley’s birthday. “She won’t be able to take Harry.”

“What about Marge?” 

“Off in Majorca, it seems. No one else available.”

Petunia stilled. “He’ll have to come with us then, won’t he? Harry!”

Harry rushed out, saying “yes, Aunt Petunia?” 

“You’ll be coming with us today.” Vernon looked red. “I expect no funny business, or you’ll be without food for a week. Got it, boy?”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon.”

The family hurried into the car, Piers and Dudley eager to see the zoo. Harry was excited, too - time spent with his family was never enjoyable, but as he’d never been out on a trip, he couldn’t help feeling a little happy. Besides, he loved animals. 

The zoo was mostly uneventful until they reached the snake exhibit.

“Why won’t it move?” Dudley and Piers violently tapped the glass. “Move, damn it!”

Vernon walked over, rapping his cane against the glass firmly. “Move,” he instructed. The boa did not. They walked off, leaving Harry to watch.

“I’m sorry about them,” he said, mildly concerned. “It must suck being here, bored.” Harry continued to watch the snake lay on the rocks. “Where are you from?”

The boa constrictor whipped his tail upon the sign saying the species was from Brazil, with Harry going, “Brazil, huh? Do you miss it?”

The boa whipped his tail again. Bred in captivity. “Oh, sorry.”

“Dad, dad! Look! Harry’s talking to it!” 

Vernon and the rest rushed over, witnessing Harry’s remaining conversation with the snake. Dudley leaned into the exhibit, slapping his hand against the glass barrier - then he fell in with a “help!”, as the glass seemed to have disappeared. 

All that Harry could hear from the snake was a hissed “Thankssss, amigo,” before he slithered away down the hallway. No one could figure out how the glass disappeared long enough for Dudley to fall into the exhibit, only for the glass to reappear. 

“It was Harry, dad! I saw him talking to the snake!” Dudley was wet and shivering, only slightly warmer from the thin blanket around his shoulders. 

“No it wasn’t,” Harry denied. Unsuccessfully. He could see Vernon going red, a telltale sign for the anger about to come. Then the fist was heading towards his face, and he woke up in his cupboard with blood covering his nose and mouth. 

Harry sighed. Not the first time this had happened - any time something even remotely ‘weird’ happened, Harry got punished. He rifled through his brain for similar memories.

_“The principal said he found you on the roof! How did you manage to get up there?”_

__

__

_Harry shivered, unable to remember how he escaped Dudley’s bullying. One minute he was cornered by the dumpster, surrounded by his gang, and the next..._

He winced.

_“How did your hair manage to grow back? I cut it yesterday! Now everyone can see that awful scar of yours. Terrible parents, your mother and father. Went off and died in a car crash, leaving you with a hideous deformity.”_

__

__

_Harry was crying. Aunt Petunia had cut his hair, almost bald everywhere except his fringe, which was left long. He didn’t understand how it grew back. He didn’t understand a lot of things._

Memories continued to flitter through Harry’s brain until he, too, managed to fall asleep. _I hope I don’t get blood on the pillow again._

The week passed, as did the holidays. He was really not looking forward to school. At one point, he walked into the lounge only to find Aunt Petunia dying some of Dudley's old clothes an ugly grey. When asked, she told Harry that she was getting his uniform sorted for his new school… something about a school for dangerous delinquents. He’d rather have gone to Dudley’s, where the boys wore wide-brimmed hats and smacked each other with canes while the teachers weren’t looking. 

Nevermind that the “uniform” didn’t fit him anyway. Harry was used to that - Dudley being the size of a small hippo and the lack of care from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia left him constantly wearing oversized clothes. 

_This was his normal_ , Harry thought. A lifetime of neglect and abuse. His birthday was only a week away, but he’d thrown away hopes of a present. Last year was a pair of old socks. The year before, the newspaper. From a month ago.

Dudley’s quip about shoving Harry’s head down a toilet yanked him out of his thoughts long enough to retort back “the poor toilets never had anything as horrible as your head down it - it might be sick!”

He did not look forward to spending the remaining seven or so years at this place. 

The next morning, he collected the mail like usual and rifled through it. Vernon, Vernon, Petunia, Bills, Postcard, Petunia, Harry, Vernon... “What?” Harry muttered.

A letter to him? 

He read the address, and found it to say;

_Mr. H. Potter  
The Cupboard under the Stairs  
4\. Privet Drive  
Little Whinging  
SURREY_

Harry was confused. He’d never had a letter before, besides from concerned teachers and the like, and this explicitly addressed? No one knew he lived under the stairs. 

The mail was passed over to Vernon by Harry who was subtly trying to conceal his letter under his shirt - unsuccessfully.

“Dad! Harry has a letter,” Dudley yelled. Snatching it up, he passed it to his dad who went white at the shock.

“Petunia,” he asked. “What’s this?”

They talked in the kitchen with the door shut - Harry tried to eavesdrop, but couldn’t with Dudley pushing him aside. It was infuriating. 

When they came out, Vernon was shaking. 

“Me and Petunia think it’s best if you move into Dudley’s second bedroom,” he said. “You’ll be staying there for the remainder of the holidays.”

Surprise made itself apparent on Harry’s face, but he didn’t complain. Why would he, when he finally had a bedroom? And just weeks before his eleventh birthday. “Thank you, Uncle Vernon.”

Harry finally fell asleep in a bed. He missed the spiders. 

Like yesterday, he woke up and collected the mail. Like yesterday, there was another letter addressed to him - this one was instead for _‘The Smallest Bedroom’_. Harry grinned. 

Of course, he wasn’t able to read his letter. Petunia and Vernon seemed to be getting tenser by the minute, exploding over the smallest mistakes. Harry already had a black eye and scraped elbows, from a swing of a pan from Petunia and a shove from Dudley. 

All for a letter he couldn’t even read. 

Vernon also seemed to be going mad - as the days passed, the letters kept coming, and Harry swore he saw him trying to hammer a nail using a piece of fruitcake, courtesy of Petunia. 

“There,” he huffed as he returned inside. “Can’t get any mail if they can’t deliver it.”

This proved to be unsatisfactory. 

The next day, Petunia cracked open an egg to find a letter inside. And another. And another. The milk contained two soggy letters, and the unopened mailbox contained seven. 

Then it started getting violent. 

Letters were flying into the house through every opening - every window, every door, every fireplace contained letters. They were falling from the ceiling, scattering every inch of the carpet. Harry jumped up and down, finally able to grasp on to one. 

Harry opened it. Not quickly enough.

“Give that here, boy!” Vernon shouted. He snatched the letter furiously, ripping it in half. “I don’t want any of that nonsense in my house. Go and pack, we’re going away for a while.”

He stared at Harry as if daring him to disagree. Petunia and Dudley looked alarmed but didn’t speak.

Hours later, the Dursley family (and Harry) were traveling in a cramped car to a dirty motel. “No letters here, I bet,” said Vernon, looking proud of himself. 

Harry didn’t know what to think; whether to be skeptical or fearful. He knew Vernon was an idiot, but didn’t ever dare say. It didn’t matter anyway, he thought. Harry was stuck in a motel without even reading the letter that had caused all the fuss. 

Unfortunately, when they woke up the next morning, they were greeted by another letter - one specifically addressed to Harry’s bed in the motel. He thought Vernon was going to explode. 

“In the car! I know exactly where they won’t find us! This is all your fault, boy. You and your stupid parents, bringing us into this mess.” 

Then they were in an old sailboat, in the rain, traveling to a lighthouse. The day before Harry’s birthday. The lighthouse was cold and damp, and because the upstairs bedroom was occupied by Vernon and Petunia, Dudley got the couch and Harry got the floor. 

Not that he could sleep, anyway. The storm was too loud outside, clouding his thoughts with wind and rain. He stared at the Happy Birthday, Harry! he traced onto the dust on the floor, and saw the seconds tick by on Dudley’s old watch. 

Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. 

“Happy birthday,” he whispered to himself.

Not a few seconds after he spoke did the door open with a large bang, giving way to an even larger figure in the doorway.


End file.
